Breaking Rules
by dontchasethesheep
Summary: Meeks has a set of rules he likes to follow. But evidently, he's decided to ignore them that night. He's drunk, and he's just met a saxophone player named Charlie. (unrelated to Welton universe, rated T to be safe)


**Disclaimers: I do not own Dead Poets Society. "(Don't) Play a Riff on My Heartstrings" is a song written by Grant Anderson, featured in Team Starkid's _Little White Lie_. Inspiration for plot drawn from _Hazy New York, _by out_there on ao3 **(I read it years ago and it took me forever to find it in order to credit it!)

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Meeks had rules. One of them was avoid morning headaches and general loss of self control at any cost. This is why he didn't drink alcohol. He was completely fine with playing the role of designated driver. But sometimes, he figured, rules could go screw themselves.

He was going to drink today.

He was going to drink a lot.

He wanted to forget. And according to the many experiences he had witnessing his friends resort to the bottle after various breakups, fights, and other bad news, alcohol was the way to do it.

He set the empty glass down with a heavy hand and cast a look around the bar. It wasn't exactly an upper-class establishment, to say the least. The air was dingy and all the patrons were either depressed middle-aged men or rambunctious college students… with the exception of Meeks, a depressed college student. The bartender was a unimpressed woman with fading pink streaks in her black hair, chewing idly on a piece of gum. Cheap, coloured lights that lined the makeshift stage shone on a small band made up of a singer, a guitarist, and a saxophonist. The awkward lyrics that Meeks would usually scoff at ("don't play a riff on my heartstrings, baby") clashed terribly with the jazzy saxophone accompaniment but it somehow spoke to Meeks and he swayed slightly in his chair.

His gaze swept over the band until it came to rest on the short, brown-haired saxophone player standing off to the side. Meeks took a deep breath, mesmerized by the man. He wore a black collared shirt with the top three buttons undone, a pair of muted green pants, and scuffed boots that tapped in time with the music. Limp strands of hair swept across the musician's closed eyes as he nodded his head and his fingers danced across the golden brass keys of the instrument. Meeks was captivated by the way he moved; even when the song came to its awfully abrupt end, the saxophone player kept moving his feet and pulsing to some inaudible beat only he could hear.

Meeks was still staring when the saxophone player looked out across the bar and met Meeks's gaze. His drunkenness slowed Meeks's usually thinking process and he didn't look away as the saxophone player winked and started to walk towards him.

"Hey," the saxophone player said when he was within earshot.

"H-hi," Meeks stuttered.

"The name is Charlie Dalton," said the other.

"Uh… Steven… my name is Steven." Eloquent as always.

Charlie didn't seem to mind Meeks's awkwardness, however. "Steven, huh? Nice to meet you."

Charlie slid into the chair next to Meeks, close enough for their knees to brush and for Meeks to smell the alcohol on Charlie's breath. Or was it his own breath? Meeks shrugged to himself. Didn't matter. Instead, he took to taking a closer look at Charlie's face. It wasn't nearly as classically beautiful as Meeks had thought when he first saw him on stage. But that was no matter, his personality was thousands of times more blinding up close. He radiated with a confidence that made Meeks want to wrap his arms around Charlie's neck and press their lips together - whether it came from the mischief in his eyes, the casual tilt of the head, or the hand that rested on Meeks's thigh, Meeks could only speculate.

"So, Steven," Charlie said. "I live just down the street. Want to come over for a drink?" Charlie raised an eyebrow in a suggestive, yet somehow classy manner.

Meeks had to swallow a laugh. Who would've guessed quiet little Steven Meeks would ever be picked up at such a bar by a suave saxophone player on a dreary Thursday night? Generally, the phrases 'one night stand' and 'Steven Meeks' didn't belong in the same sentence together. It was another rule of his: avoid anything that may lead to an awkward conversation, especially if said awkward conversation takes place at someone else's house the morning after a hook-up. It was a long rule, and an important rule. That rule, and many others, dictated that Meeks should politely decline the offer, leave the bar, go to sleep, wake up for work the next morning and forget the night had even happened.

Instead, Meeks nodded, allowing Charlie to guide him off the chair with a gentle hand on his lower back.

After all he had already broken one rule that night, he might as well keep going.

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A/N: basically I wrote and published this in one day, which is actually really weird because I usually rework my things for months before I publish them (no joke, the average time between getting the idea and publishing it is probably around eight months). it is also un-betaed, so please excuse typos or other horridness this story may present :)


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